


The Gallifreyan Princess Diaries

by gallantrejoinder



Series: Bill Potts: Princess of Gallifrey [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, F/F, Family, Fluff, Gen, Royalty, When your long lost Grandad shows up and says you're a princess and you're like "what"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: Bill Potts is sixteen, and really wants nothing more than to just move out of her foster mother's flat as soon as possible, and maybe score a date with the cute girl from maths.She's not counting on discovering a long-lost grandfather, a scheming sixth (or is it seventh?) cousin removed who has it out for her, a bald and terrifyingly capable aide who might possibly have hacked her phone, and, oh yeah, that she's the heir to the throne of the tiny European principality of Gallifrey.Maybe getting her GCSE isn't as bad as she thinks after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Winces* 
> 
> I ... I know. I have two other WIPs to work on. I'M SORRY.

“Oh, by the way, your grandfather called,” Moira says, one afternoon when Bill gets home from school, and that pulls Bill up short.

“… My _who_ now?” As far as Bill knows, she hasn’t got any living relatives. Her mother’s parents had both died before she was born, and she still doesn’t know who in the world her father was, either. A grandfather is not something she had considered a possibility.

“Your grandfather,” Moira says casually, flipping through a bunch of bills at the kitchen table. “Something about wanting to meet you. I must say, I didn’t know you had any relatives left. You might have told me!”

“I didn’t know either!” Bill says, irritated, as always, by Moira’s thoughtlessness.

“Well that’s hardly my fault,” Moira grumbles.

Bill clenches her teeth and counts to ten before speaking.

“Did he leave a number, or something?”

“Yeah, on the counter. He sounded pretty testy to me, though, I’ll bet he hasn’t got good news.”

Bill doesn’t deign to answer, simply grabbing the scrawled number stuck to the counter on a sticky note and quickly retreating to her room. She dumps her schoolbag on the ground and stares at the tiny, yellow sticky note in her hand, but it doesn’t tell her much, other than his name – John Smith. She snorts. It’s practically a joke name.

Still, though. A _grandfather_? After all this time? She’s sixteen years old! He might have called sooner. Maybe somebody’s died and she’s due to inherit billions of pounds. That’d be something.

… But probably not.

She finds herself hoping it’s just because he didn’t know about her sooner, though. It’d be a lot nicer just to have someone who wants her around instead.

With that thought in mind, she decides to call the number.

Her phone nearly slips out of her hand at first, and she’s surprised to find her palms feel clammy and cold with nerves. She tries to ignore it, listening to the phone ringing for what feels like forever.

“Good afternoon, this is the Gallifreyan Consulate. How may I assist?”

“Uh, yeah, hi … Um, I might have the wrong number. I was told to call my grandfather on this number? John Smith?” She scratches at the back of her head, feeling awkward.

“Ah! Yes! Righti-o, then. You must be Bill. He’s looking forward to meeting you!”

“He- he is?” Bill blinks, having half-convinced herself she’d called the wrong number. What’s her grandfather doing at the _Gallifreyan Consulate_?

“Absolutely. Would tomorrow at four-thirty be acceptable for tea?”

“Um – yeah, sure. I mean, if the bus isn’t late.”

“We can send around a limo, if necessary?”

Bill feels a prickle of alarm. Send around a limo?! What kind of bloke has access to that kind of money short notice?

“Oh, my god, no, that’s fine. I’ll make it. Can I have the address?”

The man on the phone lists off an address in the posh part of town, and Bill’s befuddlement only deepens. She’d been joking about the rich relative dying, but suddenly it’s looking weirdly likely …

“And if you have trouble at the gate, just mention Nardole. That’s me!”

“Right. Thanks, then, Nardole,” Bill says, unnerved. “See you then.”

 

~

 

The next day, Bill passes through school in a bit of a daze, preoccupied by thoughts of her mysterious grandfather. She can’t figure it out – what kind of person lives at a consulate for a foreign country? And a tiny one, at that. She’d had a quick google of it during history, figuring she could pass it off as schoolwork. She’s discovered that Gallifrey is a tiny European principality somewhere just north of Denmark, notorious for its privacy and snobbishness, but generally agreed to be fabulously rich from its textiles industry. That doesn’t really tell her anything about her grandfather though, except that he might be a fashion icon. Somehow she doubts it.

She only really comes out of the fog of discovering her long lost relation in maths. And it’s not because maths is particularly interesting, either – it’s because of Heather.

Bill sits next to Heather every lesson, due to the teacher’s insistence on a seating plan. Usually she’d be pretty irritated about being treated like a kid, but she doesn’t mind so much in maths because it means she has an excuse to try to talk to the prettiest girl in the whole school.

She nudges Heather as the teacher drones on about triangles, or lateral angles, or something.

“D’you think he practises these speeches in front of a mirror?” she snickers.

Heather frowns. “We should probably concentrate,” she says, folding her arms over herself, looking as uncomfortable as ever.

Bill sighs, turning her eyes back to the board. Well, she might the prettiest girl in school, but Heather never talks _back_ to Bill, no matter how hard Bill tries to get her to open up.

Just Bill’s luck, to have a crush on a girl who hates everyone.

 

~

 

That afternoon, Bill finds herself standing outside the Gallifreyan Consulate gates, convinced someone’s got the wrong idea. It’s posh – more than posh. It looks like the kind of place the queen’d call home. _What the hell_.

After pressing the buzzer and being let in – the second she’d mentioned her grandfather’s name, the door had opened – she enters a ridiculously fancy marble hallway, where a bald man greets her with a wide smile.

“Well, hello there! You must be Bill. I’m Nardole. We spoke on the phone?”

“Yeah, we did. Blimey, this place isn’t a summer home for the queen, by any chance, is it?” Bill says, nervously.

It doesn’t help that at that moment two men in dark sunglasses and black suits step into the room and start to go over her school bag, examining her suspiciously.

“You’d be surprised,” says Nardole. Noticing the expression on Bill’s face at the appearance of the two men, he smiles in a manner that is probably meant to be reassuring, but comes off a little more manic. “Don’t worry about them. They’re just checking to make sure you don’t want to bomb the place.”

“… Right,” Bill says, hunching in on herself in order to appear small and nonthreatening, attempting to smile back.

Minutes later, Nardole leads her to an empty sitting room, with the kind of furniture that probably costs more than Bill and Moira’s entire council flat and its contents together. She sits carefully on the edge of a couch, looking around in confusion. There’s no one here apart from her and Nardole.

“Won’t be a moment,” Nardole says, before leaving her on her own, with nary a chance to ask what in the hell is going on.

Rather than sit there with her mouth open like a fish, Bill dumps her bag on the ground and looks around the room. She spots a group of knick-knacks on the mantelpiece and walks over to examine them in more detail. Of course, with how posh everything is, they’re probably more like antiques than op-shop knick-knacks, but that doesn’t stop her from picking up the nearest one – two figures, frozen in a dance, wearing elaborate red and gold robes. She has absolutely no idea what they’re supposed to represent, but it’s a beautiful piece of work. She smiles.

“Gallifreyan dancers with traditional robes,” a voice says suddenly, and Bill nearly drops the tiny statue.

“Oh my god!” she says, heart pounding as she whirls around, still clutching the statue. “Give a girl some warning!”

An older man is frowning at her – or perhaps simply staring, he has the sort of eyebrows that seem to be perpetually fixed in a frown no matter the situation. He’s tall and skinny, and his voice seems to have a Scottish lilt to it, if Bill’s any judge. She sets the statue gingerly back on the mantelpiece.

“You should be more careful about knowing who’s in the room with you,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“What – you mean – were you in the room the whole time?!” All of the alarm bells in Bill’s head are going off, and she’s suddenly glad that the place seems to be so heavily guarded, because she’s about three seconds from calling for help.

“You must be Bill,” says the man, ignoring her question.

“How do you know my name?” Bill demands.

“I’m your grandfather,” he says, simply, and Bill’s heart nearly stops.

“ _You’re_ my grandfather?”

“That would be correct – you do catch on quick.”

“Huh. I didn’t think you’d be …”

“White?”

“Scottish,” she admits.

He frowns, offended. The eyebrows are out in full force now, she can see. “Oh, I’m not Scottish. Well, only on my mother’s side, anyway. I’m Gallifreyan.”

“Well, you sound Scottish,” Bill says, raising her eyebrows.

“Lots of countries have a north, Bill,” he says, sniffing. “Come sit down.”

She follows him back to the couches, sitting across from each other. He sits with a flourish, sweeping his coattails out behind him. She stares at him, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. The first real relative she’s ever had, and he’s completely mad.

“I take it you’re wondering what we’re doing here,” he announces.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. I was like, totally thrown off by the phone call. I didn’t even know you existed!” Bill tries not to sound too eager, but it’s difficult.

“Nor did I,” he admits. “Your mother …”

“You knew my mother?” Bill says eagerly. “Was she your daughter?”

“No,” the man – her _grandfather_ says. “I only knew her for a few months, many years ago now. She was my son’s girlfriend, for a time.”

“Wait, so you knew my dad? I don’t know anything about him. I mean, I don’t know much about mum, either, but – oh my god, will I get to meet him?” Bill’s heart is pounding as she struggles to comprehend what he’s telling her, thoughts racing ahead.

“I’m afraid he passed away, also, many years ago,” her grandfather says, a shadow falling over his eyes.

“Oh,” Bill says softly. “I’m – I’m sorry.” She hadn’t ever really expected to meet him, but …

“As am I. Because of his untimely passing, and the fact that your mother left before anyone knew she was pregnant, we had no idea of your existence.”

“Oh, wow. God. I’m … sorry?”

“What are you apologising for? No one else knew.” Her grandfather looks perplexed by her apologetic, confused tone. “It was only in recent months that we discovered your existence, due to a necessary investigation into the family tree.” He wrinkles his nose, as if finding something distasteful in the whole affair.

“Investigation? What, am I like, the lost heir to the Gallifreyan throne or something?” Bill laughs.

“Yes, that’s it,” he says, seriously.

Bill stops laughing.

“All right. Stop pulling my leg, I get it, it’s a serious situation.”

“Why would I be joking?” He’s the one who looks perplexed, now.

Bill’s face drops. No. There’s no _way_.

“You – oh my god. Is that why you’re staying in the _consulate_?” She stands, panicking. “Are you royalty?”

He winces. “Well, not by choice. I was about fifth in line for the throne, but then there were a series of mishaps, and now here I am. The king of Gallifrey. Never much cared for the title.”

“The – you’re a _king_?!” Bill can’t seem to stop herself parroting back what he’s telling her, feeling the shock overriding every other feeling. “Wait a second! What does that make me?”

He grins, showing a line of straight teeth. “The next in line to inherit the throne, I’m afraid.”

Bill does what any sixteen-year-old would do when faced with inevitable responsibility.

She runs away.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good morning, Bill,” a voice says cheerfully as she exits the council block, and any hope Bill had of avoiding her insane grandfather withers.

“Oh no,” she says.

“Oh yes!” Nardole replies, from where he’s sitting, inside a parked limousine on the side of the road. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?”

“I was kinda hoping it would be,” she says, gloomily.

“Tough luck. His highness is in the back. Wants a word.”

“Right,” Bill sighs, before opening the door and climbing in.

Just as Nardole had said, her grandfather is sitting in the back of the limousine, legs crossed and eyebrows even crosser. The car starts to move, and Bill can only assume they’re on their way to her school. At least, she hopes they are.

“You can’t just run away from all your problems, Bill,” Grandfather says, foregoing any greeting. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Have you,” Bill says flatly.

“Yeah. I once stole a blue truck from the Italian embassy and drove all the way down to France before they caught me.”

“And they still let you be king?”

“I didn’t give them any choice,” he says, mysteriously. The whole schtick is already getting old, if Bill’s honest about it. “Point is, I’ve got the Gallifreyan Independence Day ball coming up in two months, and you’re going to need to be ready for it. Can’t have you not knowing all the traditional Gallifreyan dances, or they’ll laugh you right out of there. I forgot to wear the appropriate collar once – well, I say _forgot_ – and they nearly shot me on site.”

“You’re really selling me on the whole royalty thing,” Bill says, smiling despite herself.

“Oh, yeah. It’s a hell of a ride. But I’m afraid we’re rather going to need you to take it, or there will be consequences,” he says, conversationally.

“Are you … threatening me?” Bill replies, eyebrows skyrocketing.

“Threatening you? Never. You’re the threat here. Your lack of commitment could topple a whole monarchy, did you ever think of that?”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, then,” she says, nervously.

“I’m not known for that sort of thing, no,” he says, shrugging.

Silence falls for a moment, and Bill shakes herself, trying to remember why she needs to _think_ about this, and not make any promises to a man who quite obviously mad.

“Okay, look,” she says, firmly. “Fact is, you just told me yesterday that I’m the heir to the throne of a country I’ve barely even heard of before. I’ve spent sixteen years thinking I’m just – just a nobody, just some orphan kid with no home –”

“I’ve never met a single person who was truly a nobody, Bill. Every individual on Earth makes a greater contribution to the lives of the people around them than they will ever know. For better or for worse,” Grandfather says, and suddenly Bill can see where the royalty bit might come in, making proclamations like that.

“Right, okay, but the point is that I’m not – I’m not ready for this! Can’t I just, I don’t know, abdicate?”

That gives him pause. He levels a look on her that would probably terrify someone less determined than Bill.

“You could do that, yes. But it would change the face of the Gallifreyan monarchy forever. And that’s not the sort of decision that generally should be made by a sixteen-year-old.”

“Then why are you trying to make me be a princess in the first place?” Bill cries.

Grandfather looks at his hands, wincing. “Yeah, well. That bit’s not my fault. It’s some old law they came up with when people still used swords to settle their problems. Basically, if you haven’t accepted your duties by the time you turn seventeen, you forfeit the throne altogether and someone else inherits.”

“Well – who’s in line after me?”

“A very, very distant relative. Not actually sure how she wormed her way into the tree, to be honest. But trust me,” he says, leaning forward, an intense look on his face, “You don’t want her on the throne.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m fairly certain she’s trying to start a war with Spain for the hell of it.”

“Ugh,” Bill says, and puts her head into her hands.

She stays like that for a minute, letting herself wallow in self-pity. Then she sits up straight, and gets to work.

“Nardole, stop the car,” she demands. “And you. Grandfather, I guess. You’ve got until I turn seventeen, in three months, yeah?”

“Technically speaking, although it’d be better all around if we knew by the time of the ball what you want to do,” he says, looking perplexed.

“All right, until the ball then. Two months. Give me two months to think about it. I’ll … I’ll get to know Gallifrey, figure things out. Deal?”

Grandfather appears to consider it for a moment. “Hmm. Deal. But I’d like to get to know you, Bill. I have to know that you’re able to rule after all. So how about we meet after school every day back at the consulate, and I can show you the ropes?”

“Fine, whatever. Good. That’s sorted then. I’m walking the rest of the way,” she says, before exiting the limo and slamming the door behind her.

 

~

 

The good bit of news for the day comes from an unexpected source – her maths teacher, Mr. Fitz. After droning on, as he tends to do, for the first half hour or so of the lesson (Bill all the while trying her best not to stare creepily at Heather,) he brings up the upcoming trig assessment task – a group task, apparently.

“You will be partnering with the person beside you, and there’ll be no complaints, thank you Mister Ngyuen. Now, you’ll need to remember that this is a group project, and as such …”

Bill stops listening right about there, stuck on the fact that she’ll be partnering with Heather, she’ll have an _excuse to talk to her_ , she could even ask her to meet up _outside of school_.

 _Oh my god_ , she thinks. _This is the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me_.

… Well, apart from potentially inheriting the Gallifreyan throne. But she’s still pretending that never happened and her grandfather is just insane.

“Uh, you know anything about trig?” Bill says, trying to ignore the unpleasant reminder of her newly discovered identity.

Heather stares at her textbook. “A little. I’m better with algebra, but it’s all just numbers, really …”

“Do you like maths, then? I don’t get it the appeal, really. I’m better with English,” Bill says. She likes to think she’s pretty good at school in general, but she definitely has preferences.

“No,” Heather says, shifting uncomfortably in one of the hard, plastic chairs the school can barely cough up enough money for. “I don’t really like any of the subjects. School just makes me think about how much I want to leave.”

Bill tries going for an understanding chuckle at that, but it’s possible that it comes out as more of a duck choking on a tuba. She coughs to cover it up.

“Well, uh. Do you wanna … meet up after school, maybe? Mine or yours, I don’t care. I mean, my place is really tiny, and Moira’s totally annoying, but we don’t have to go to yours if you don’t, um, want.” _Smooth, Potts. Smooth_.

Heather tucks a blonde curl behind her ear, and Bill resist the urge to sigh dramatically over it.

“No, your place is fine. My parents aren’t around much, but I … I don’t really like being alone in the house.”

“Yeah, no worries! No, that’s fine, then. I mean, I’ll like, protect you, and stuff.” Bill winces visibly, now. Protect her and stuff? What is she, Heather’s knight in denim armour?

“All right,” Heather says, packing away her text books and pencils. The bell must have gone – Bill wasn’t paying attention. “See you at four, then?”

“Right,” Bill confirms, before remembering her unfortunate grandfather. “Oh wait, no! Sorry. I’ve got … a thing. Could we make it five-thirty? I know it’s kind of late, but you could stay for dinner?”

And then something magical happens. Heather smiles at her, a soft, shy kind of smile that makes Bill’s heart feel like it’s melting into a puddle.

“Sure,” Heather says, and Bill is struck by how the light catches the star in her eye in this light.

In the next second, of course, Heather’s gone, and Bill realises she’s about to be late for history. Swearing, she packs up her books, and runs to her next class making a mental note to ask the teacher about the culture of Gallifrey.

 

~

 

That afternoon, Bill shows up at the consulate with dread in the pit of her stomach. It’s one thing trying to wrap her head around her weird grandfather, it’s another to consider … the rest of it. But consider it she must, and so she finds her way inside once again, without, this time, suffering through the overly suspicious bodyguards in the entryway.

She’s taken to the same room as before, but this time Grandfather is waiting for her, back towards her as he contemplates the garden outside the window.

“Tell me, Bill. Do you know what the national flower of Gallifrey is?”

“… No,” Bill replies, deciding they must be foregoing greetings, for now. She drops her schoolbag on the carpet and flops down in a chair.

“It’s a Tiger Lily. Not even native to the country, but it stands for wealth and pride. Gallifrey is a rich, proud, and hypocritical country, Bill.” He still hasn’t turned away from the window.

“Gee. They sound like they’ll love having a Black princess, then,” Bill says, struggling not to shrivel into the chair with nerves. _Not to mention the whole lesbian thing_.

Now Grandfather does turn. “Ah, but that’s what makes Gallifrey such an interesting place. The reason for our national flower being a non-native one is due to our ancient history of trade and custom with countries throughout Asia. To the point of mutual understanding even through world wars, colonisation, imperialism … Gallifrey does not have a race problem, Bill, what we have is a pride problem. Where hypocrisy exists it is allowed to exist, because we can all sit back and bless our lucky history.”

“I mean, if you say so,” Bill says, doubtfully. “You’re the native Gallifreyan.”

“You still seem unsure,” he says, frowning and cocking his head to the side.

Bill huffs. “Look. Even if this tiny European country will accept a Black princess, what are they going to do with –” She stops, biting her lip. She hasn’t come out to _anyone_ , why would she come out to a complete stranger, even if he is a blood relative?

Grandfather raises his eyebrows. “I take it you’re worried that something else about your identity makes you unfit for the crown, yeah?”

“You could … say that.”

For a moment he just keeps staring at her, before he suddenly smacks himself in the forehead. Bill jumps.

“Oh! Stupid man, stupid, stupid … Of course, I should have mentioned. Bill, if it’s about some gender thing, or, I dunno, sexuality – don’t worry about it. Like I said, bigotry is not the problem in Gallifrey. At least not the regular kind.”

“What, really?” Bill can’t keep the shock from her tone. “’Cos like – I’m just saying, if Prince William came out any time soon, that probably wouldn’t go down well here.”

Grandfather rolls his eyes. “Bah, that’s a problem for the English. No, no. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Bill. They didn’t kick up a fuss with any of my ex boyfriends.”

Bill’s mouth gapes open. “But you – you’re ancient!”

She cringes as soon as she says it, but Grandfather still looks mildly hurt.

“The point,” he grumbles, “is that, as I have been trying to tell you, the only kind of bigotry in Gallifrey is that of Gallifreyan pride itself. They won’t hate you for your race, your gender, or your sexuality. They might, however, be less than enthused about your not actually having grown up in Gallifrey. The only thing they understand is how to ponce about as if their pride is not as much of a fault as bigotry.”

“Blimey,” Bill mutters. “And you’re their king.”

Grandfather shrugs. “I went to college in Barcelona.”

“That tells me absolutely nothing.”

“Well, you should have been paying attention, then!”

Bill can’t help but grin at the effrontery in his voice. “Fine, then. Start teaching,” she challenges, and that makes him grin right back.

“All you had to do was ask.”

 

~

 

By the end of her first lesson on Gallifreyan culture and society, Bill’s left dizzy with facts and information she’d never cared to learn before. Not that a quick google search could have given her the insight of a real live Gallifreyan – her grandfather has a remarkable ability to ramble on for ages about nothing in particular before suddenly honing on an idea that blows her mind. Unfortunately, this means she’s late for her dat– her _meeting_ with Heather.

She sprints around the block, huffing and puffing, having forced Nardole to park the car away from the building so as not to raise suspicions. Thankfully, Heather’s still waiting on a bench near the bus stop for her.

“Heather! Hi!” Bill shouts, when she gets closer. Between gulps of air, she manages to force out an apology. “I’m so sorry, oh my god. My – uh, thing, took longer than expected.”

Heather’s shaking her head. “It’s okay,” she says, in that soft way of hers. “Shall we go up?”

“Yeah,” Bill pants. “Just let me get my breath.”

The next few minutes are spent awkwardly climbing the stairs to Bill’s flat, since the elevator has _of course_ broken down again. She doesn’t exactly know what to say now she’s got Heather by her side, and Heather apparently isn’t feeling too talkative either – not that Bill’s ever seen her be anything but reticent.

Once they’re inside, though, (Moira mercifully absent on a date,) Bill finds herself actually talking about the maths project. And better yet, Heather talks back – asking how it should be done, when they can meet up, and how often. Bill has to bite back answers like ‘however you want, whenever you want, every day.’ Thankfully, Heather doesn’t seem to notice too much, and gradually relaxes as the hour wears on.

“Hey, can I just ask,” Bill says, as it becomes clear Heather should be leaving soon, “What’s – what’s that in your eye? The star?”

Heather’s face suddenly closes off, as if she’s angry. “It’s a defect in the iris,” she mutters.

Bill scrambles to muster. “It’s really pretty, though. I mean. A defect that looks like a star’s pretty cool.”

Heather looks away, tidying up her schoolbag, before standing. “Well, I’m going to get it fixed, eventually, when I move out.” Her tone is even more curt now, and Bill feels her heart sink.

“Guess I’ll see you on the weekend, then?” Bill asks hopefully.

“Sure,” Heather says, before practically sprinting to get out of the apartment.

Bill stares at the ceiling for a moment, begging any power out there for a break. _Then_ she allows herself the luxury of banging her head on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note about Gallifreyan society - so, obviously, we live in the real world. With racism and sexism and homophobia. But I didn't want to spend a whole fic writing about Bill being forced to confront bigotry over and over again, because this is meant to be a light-hearted kind of a thing in a similar way to the show. So I took some elements of canon and mixed them up with a theoretical real world country: one that espouses liberal values yet suffers from a lack of self-examination and too much pride, much as the Time Lords do in universe, and much as my own country, Australia, does in the real world. Hopefully it's got the right balance - Bill's not out of the woods yet, but nor am I going to make her repeatedly be exposed to the kind of violence that might hit too close to home for us here in the real world. I may be a lesbian but I'm also white, and I don't want to write anything that's not my place to write about.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks pass surprisingly quickly, all things considered. Bill learns a ridiculous amount about Gallifrey from Grandfather, who is somehow both patient and brashly irritated all at once. She wonders how he manages it sometimes. They begin with history (“Rassilon’s pretty important. Couldn’t tell you why myself.” “Well that’s helpful.” “I aim to please, you know that, Bill.”) Next it’s customs (“No, Bill – your left hand. Rassilon had a thing about it.” “Rassilon sounds like a right piece of work.” “Oh, he was, I’m thinking of having his national holiday abolished, but I’d miss the lie-in.”)

And finally they’re meant to get on to dancing, except that right as Grandfather’s uncomfortably lining up to show her the traditional Gallifreyan waltz (he seems to have a thing about hating to touch people,) a tiny brunette bursts into the room with a murderous look on her face.

“ _You_ ,” she says, and it sounds like a threat.

Grandfather freezes, before slowly turning towards the intruder.

“Clara!” He says, voice cheerfully unaffected in spite of his cowering posture.

The aforementioned Clara stomps forward with an impressively imposing gait, unexpected given her diminutive height. She looks furious, and Bill’s faintly impressed that anyone manages to be so brazenly irritated with her grandfather.

“The entire Gallifreyan government is on the hunt for you,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Aren’t they always?”

“Your highness, I am your personal secretary. Running off with your head of security for vanity projects isn’t on your schedule at any point, last I looked.”

“Bill isn’t a vanity project,” Grandfather says, looking affronted. “What, a man can’t spend some quality time with his granddaughter?”

For a moment, Clara remains completely still. Her gaze turns to Bill, who has absolutely no idea what to say, before returning to Grandfather. She narrows her eyes, and steps forward, deliberately.

“Are you telling me. That you ran away to England, informing approximately five people total where you were going, not including me. Because you found the heir to the throne of Gallifrey. And you didn’t. Tell. _Anyone_.”

“I told Nardole,” Grandfather says, a little sulkily.

“Right, um, can we do introductions? Maybe?” Bill interrupts, before Clara can do real violence. “Only, I don’t exactly know what’s going on here.”

Clara turns to her, and the murderous look instantly melts away, replaced with friendliness. She sticks out a hand for Bill to shake. “I’m Clara Oswald. Head of this royal idiot’s security. I take it you’re his granddaughter.”

“Yeah. Bill Potts,” Bill says, shaking her hand. “I mean, I only found out a few weeks ago about all this, but it looks like it. I didn’t … I didn’t know he’d run off,” she continues awkwardly.

“It’s not your fault. He does that.”

“I just wanted to get to know her! She hasn’t decided anything yet, she doesn’t need all the pressure,” Grandfather interrupts, suddenly stepping between Bill and Clara. Bill feels oddly touched, realising it’s the first time he’s actively advocated for her. It makes her heart feel … warm.

“I understand that, but you don’t make it easy for yourself _or me_ by running off all the time.”

“No? What about that time on the Orient Express?”

Clara’s stony face is cracking now, revealing a smile. “You know it’s not called that any more.”

“Yeah, but it was fun to pretend, wasn’t it?” Grandfather is smiling dopily back at her.

Bill looks between the two of them and resists the urge to drop her jaw to the floor. Good lord, her grandfather’s got a _crush_. On a younger woman, too. _Ugh_. And what’s worse is Clara clearly likes him _back_.

Although, it does explain why Bill’s stuck on staring dreamily at the object of _her_ affections instead of doing anything about it. It must run in the family.

She clears her throat, and both Clara and Grandfather jump.

“Look, we’re almost done here anyway. How about I leave you two to get re-acquainted?”

Grandfather opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Clara answers for him.

“Excellent idea, Bill. He’s got a lot of explaining to do,” she says, smiling sunnily.

“Okay,” Bill replies awkwardly. “See you tomorrow then, Grandfather.”

His lips twitch as if he wants to smile but daren’t, the way they always do when she calls him that. Bill’s starting to think he may have been just as lonely as her, even if he is a king.

 

~

 

The meetings with Heather have been, if Bill does say so herself, pretty damn great – Heather talks more, she even smiles sometimes. From a girl as quiet and reserved, and even outright _hostile_ as Heather, Bill’s going to count that as a major victory.

Which is why she practically hits herself when she completely forgets that she was going to meet up with Heather one day after princess lessons.

They’d arranged to meet at Heather’s place, for once. They’d even decided not to focus on maths, just … hang out, for once. But Bill had come straight home, eaten a quick dinner, dodged Moira’s questions about what she’d been doing with all her time these days, and fallen asleep. It isn’t until she sees Heather’s stony expression at school the next day in maths that she realises what she’s done.

“Oh no,” she says weakly, stopping short in the classroom doorway.

Heather doesn’t say anything at all until Bill rushes forward, apologies on her lips.

“It’s fine. If you didn’t want to come you could have just said, though,” Heather says, hurt.

“No! No! I did want to come, I swear,” Bill says, pleading with her. “I’ve just been so busy – I totally forgot about it.”

“I know you’re busy, Bill,” Heather sighs, pulling out her text book and pens. “You’re always busy. You never say where you’re going.”

“It’s – it’s – you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Bill says weakly.

Heather whirls around to look her in the eye, somehow not toppling the chair over. “What does that even _mean_?”

Bill struggles to think of an answer. “Look, I just – I can’t tell you, okay?”

Heather’s face closes off immediately.

“Fine. I’ll finish the project myself,” she mutters, turning away.

And Bill is not well known for her impulse control, so she can’t be blamed for what she says next.

“Wait! I will. I’ll tell you. At lunch. Just – thirty more minutes, I swear. And I’ll tell you the truth.”

Heather turns back slowly, seeming to relent a little. “Okay.”

Bill takes in absolutely nothing over the next thirty minutes, wondering what on Earth had overcome her to say something so stupid. Right now, only the employees of the consulate, her grandfather, Nardole, and Clara Oswald know about her royal status – and she’s about to blab to her _crush_.

She’s not actually sure if Grandfather would be okay with that or not.

Finally, though, lunch arrives. Feeling sick, Bill stands, taking Heather’s hand before she can talk herself out of it, and dragging her through the halls to a quiet spot near the science labs. Once there, standing behind the second block, out of sight from the rest of the yard, she turns to Heather and takes a deep breath. Heather looks at her expectantly.

“Okay. So. I’ve been spending a lot of time, recently, with this bloke.”

Heather’s face immediately twists into an expression of horror. Bill hastens to continue.

“Not like that! Oh god, not like _that_. I found out really recently that I’ve got a grandfather. We’ve been getting to know each other, like, as family.”

Heather’s expression turns to relief. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Is that all?”

Bill hesitates, realising she could probably get away with not mentioning the rest of it.

… But she _really_ likes Heather.

“Not exactly,” she admits. “There’s … other stuff. Like, okay. The first time I met him, it was in the Gallifreyan consulate. You know Gallifrey?”

“Isn’t it that tiny country in Europe?” Heather asks, frowning.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Well basically, Gallifrey has a monarchy. And the king of Gallifrey, his wife and son, they both died in an accident a few years ago, so there’s no real heir to the throne.”

“… What are you saying?”

Bill looks into Heather’s eyes and wills herself to be brave.

“The reason my grandfather found out who I was is because he was looking for … He was looking for someone to take over the throne after him,” she says, all in a rush.

Bill can suddenly see every point of the star in Heather’s eye as her face betrays her shock.

“You’re saying –”

“Yep.”

“You mean he’s the –”

“Uh-huh.”

Heather blinks slowly. “Then – you’re a princess?”

Bill nods, wincing.

“Oh my god,” Heather says, softly. “What are you still doing in a dump like this?”

Bill laughs in surprise. “I dunno. I guess I just – there are people I want to be close to, here,” she confesses, feeling her cheeks warm at the admission.

She’s surprised to see Heather blushing too. “Oh.”

They’re both saved from having to think of something to say, though, as the half-time bell startles them out of their reverie. Heather glances back at Bill, after having looked around, awkwardly, for a moment.

“I have a lot of questions,” she says, seriously.

“Go on then,” Bill replies. Suddenly, she feels a thousand times lighter – the weight of her secret isn’t hers alone anymore.

 

~

 

A few days later, dance lessons begin again, with Clara’s observation, this time. It’s probably for the best – Grandfather doesn’t look like the most coordinated penguin of the bunch.

The lesson proceeds pretty simply – the Gallifreyan waltz is a fairly easy dance, though Bill keeps messing up, trying to lead instead of following. After the fifth time she steps on Grandfather’s toe, he decides to let her go for the day, with instructions to _practise, Bill, practise_. Bill gives a quick salute and apology before deciding it’s time to leave.

She’s made it halfway out the gate before she realises that a charm is missing from her schoolbag. Usually, she’d just come back for it tomorrow, but Shireen had gotten it for her on the last day of school the previous year, and has one to match it – so Bill really doesn’t want to lose it. She decides to head back inside and methodically retrace her steps, eyes scanning the ground carefully for any glint of silver. Just as she’s about to round the corner to the room she usually takes lessons with Grandfather in, she hears voices from inside, and pauses.

“You’ve been wearing the black coat for a long time now,” Clara’s voice says.

There’s no answer.

“It’s okay. I know you miss her,” Clara continues, and Bill’s eyes widen as she presses herself back against the wall. She knows this isn’t a conversation she’s meant to be hearing, but …

Well, sue her. She’s curious about her Grandfather. His Wikipedia article doesn’t tell her anything about the real him, not really. Just that he’s infamous for scandals where no one gets hurt, and that he’d lost his wife and child in an accident, years ago …

The silence in the other room is deafening. Bill can’t see what they’re doing, but she imagines that Grandfather’s pointedly ignoring Clara’s attempts to get any real emotion out of him.

“Dancing, then? It’s been a while since you danced anything Gallifreyan. Are you sure you remember how?”

“River always preferred something Spanish.”

“I know. That was before my time, but believe me, I, and the rest of the Chinese consulate, know.”

Silence falls again, and Bill hears Clara sigh – not angrily, she can tell, just … sadly. Like they’ve had this conversation before. Footsteps suddenly come towards the open door, and Bill panics for a second, glancing around wildly for somewhere to hide, but then –

Then, music suddenly begins to play from within the room. It’s wordless, semi-classical – Bill wouldn’t really know how to classify it. The same music they’d been dancing to earlier. And the footsteps stop.

They begin again, two sets now, in tandem. Curiously, Bill peeks her head around the corner, wondering if there’s any chance she can get in there now and look for her charm. Except – it quickly becomes clear she most definitely cannot do that.

Because Grandfather and Clara are dancing together, with this weirdly intense look on both their faces. Bill is suddenly very aware that she does _not_ want to be present for this – and no one else should be either. Bill hastily retreats, turning back the way she came and giving up on finding the charm, for now.

As she continues down the hall, a man in dark sunglasses and one of the funny Gallifreyan red jackets suddenly appears, looking suspiciously at her. Bill stares right back at him, and suddenly realises he’s headed right for Grandfather and Clara. She thinks fast, stopping in front of him and interrupting him before he can speak.

“His highness is not to be disturbed,” she says, in as imperious a tone as she can manage.

“With all due respect, uh … your … Miss Potts, I’m afraid that –”

“I’m sorry, did I not make myself clear?” Bill summons up whatever royal blood is in her veins, trying to make herself appear taller, and thanking the stars that she’d put her hair up in a ponytail today, making the task easier. “I said he’s not to be disturbed. And need I remind you, _I’m_ the one who might end up ruling your country some day, so don’t forget it.”

The man blinks behind his glasses, before stiffly moving aside.

“My apologies, your highness,” he says, and Bill tries not to visibly startle at the title.

She returns home that afternoon and flops down on her bed in a daze. _Your highness_. She’s … she’s proper royalty. A real princess.

One day, maybe, a queen.

 

~

 

Heather comes over that weekend, to make up for Bill forgetting to see her last time to hang out. They decide on a Netflix binge, Bill popping some popcorn while they race through the first season of _Inspector Spacetime_. Heather always talks about getting out of London, travelling around, but that doesn’t stop her from having her downswings, so it’s easier to just spend a day together inside, Bill’s finding.

After a few episodes, Bill’s kind of tuning out, mulling over the past week, and all of the changes happening. It’s weird, to think that Grandfather’s so quickly slotted into her life. Weirder still that they have a lot in common – they both love Chinese food, and hate pears. They both think Rassilon’s pretentious and Nardole’s a mother hen. (Though, the one time she’d said that, she was terrified to discover a text from an unknown number on her phone telling her to watch herself. Only then did Grandfather feel like informing her Nardole is a world-famous hacker.) And they both have a terrible way with trying to flirt with their crushes, if his relationship with Clara and hers with Heather is any indication.

… Which gives her an idea.

“Hey,” Bill says, as the credits roll for the fourth episode. “You know how I’ve been taking these princess lessons?”

“Yeah, why?” Heather asks, curious.

“Well this week we started in on traditional Gallifreyan dances. There’s this waltz that I need to learn for the ball – you know, when I decide whether to accept the throne or not,” Bill explains. But Heather’s already nodding, already familiar with all the details, now that Bill’s free to talk about it with her.

“I kept practising it with Grandfather, but I’m really shit at it. I was wondering – I mean, you don’t have to, but maybe we could practise together?” Bill silently sends up a prayer to whoever’s listening that Heather doesn’t have a phobia of dancing.

To her surprise, Heather nods, shyly. “Okay. Do you – can you lead?”

“Yeah,” Bill says, laughing. “It’s all I know how to do, that’s the problem. I guess it wouldn’t be a problem if I danced with a girl, though.”

“Guess not,” Heather says, giving her a tiny smile.

They stand, and quickly coordinate moving the furniture back in the tiny living room. When the floor is clear, they turn towards each other, and Bill feels her heart skip a beat. She steps forward, nervously.

“So, um. I’ll just put my arm up like this, and you put your palm against mine – and then we switch, like this …” Bill ends up narrating all their actions, Heather silently following along, a small frown of concentration between her eyebrows. Eventually, she seems to get the hang of it. Bill’s doing much better too, now that she’s allowed to lead. It’s just easier, stepping in tandem with Heather, moving forward to meet her with every turn and holding their palms against one another. After a while, she stops feeling nervous – forgets that she’s dancing with her crush, with the girl who makes her say stupid things and trip over her own feet. She’s just dancing with _Heather_.

They dance more and more slowly, until finally they stop, just contemplating each other. Bill smiles shyly at Heather, who returns the look.

“Hey, um. I’ll have to check if it’s okay with Grandfather first, but … If it _is_ okay, d’you want to come with me to the ball? Like, officially?”

“I’d like that,” Heather says, without a hint of hesitation.

Bill almost forgets the reason for the ball altogether at that, suddenly feeling about ten times taller and a thousand times lighter, giddy with happiness.

Now she just has to work on whether she’s going to be there as a princess, or a rejected candidate for the throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! God, this is getting ridiculously long. I though it'd be 5,000 words max. WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN.
> 
> ETA: Real life's about to kick me in the face, so updates may be slightly slower from now on. However, I still have every intention of finishing this fic. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some homophobia in this chapter (not from anyone we love!) Spoilery details in end notes.

Bill is starting to feel like she’s getting the hang of all this princess stuff. Grandfather slowly seems to be opening up to her – helped, no doubt, by Clara’s mediating presence – and she almost feels like maybe she _could_ be capable of ruling a country, as a figurehead, at least.

Of course, Bill should have realised that nothing in her life gets to go well for long. And without putting too fine a point on it, shit most definitely hits the fan about three weeks out from the ball, when it somehow gets out to the press who Bill really is.

It starts one morning as she’s on her way to school. She still won’t take the limo Nardole offers to drive for her _all_ the way there, but she’s running late this morning, so it’s easy to give him a call and get dropped off a block away. As she walks up to the school, she notices a surprising number of people crowded around the gate – and not students, either, adults. With cameras.

She stops in her tracks, wondering what’s going on. She doesn’t need to wonder for long, as Heather comes sprinting out of the gate towards her, with a terrified look on her face.

“What’s going on?” Bill asks, alarmed, as Heather skids to a halt in front of her.

“It wasn’t me,” Heather says, looking more alarmed than Bill’s ever seen her.

Bill places two hands on Heather’s arms, concerned by her uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay, I’m sure _you_ didn’t do anything,” she reasons.

“No, Bill – you don’t understand – they’re here for –”

“Oh my god, it’s the princess!” A voice from within the crowd huddled around the gate suddenly pierces the morning air. As one, the people gathered – who Bill can now see are reporters – turn towards her, as if scenting blood. _Bill’s_ blood, currently running cold as she comprehends what’s happened.

“Heather …”

“I swear, I didn’t tell,” Heather pleads. “Come with me – we’ll go in together, around the back.”

“Okay,” Bill says faintly, staring at the group of reporters currently hurrying towards her.

Heather grabs her hand without another word, and the two of them run for their lives, racing away from the clambering mob. The only thought running through Bill’s head underneath all the immediate _panic_ is how much trouble she’s going to be in with Grandfather when he finds out.

 

~

 

As it turns out, Grandfather is, for the first time Bill’s even known him, furious. But not with her.

She and Heather had taken refuge in the principal’s office, waiting for Nardole to bring the car back around to escort Bill to safety. When he’d arrived, he’d been prepared to take Bill back, not Heather – but one look at the guilt and worry on Heather’s face had convinced Bill she could afford to take her with them.

They’d arrived at the consulate in record time, somehow managing to have avoided the paparazzi. In all likelihood, Bill wouldn’t be surprised if Nardole had somehow managed to hack all their cameras and break them. And then she and Heather come inside, and sat beside each other, awaiting the king’s judgement.

Heather still hasn’t let go of her hand.

“I don’t know who did this,” Grandfather says, dangerously quiet, where he sits behind his desk, “But they’re going to have hell to pay when I find them.”

“With all due respect, your highness, I’m surprised you haven’t worked it out already,” Clara says, arms crossed, leaning against the wall behind him.

He turns to her, brow furrowed.

“It’s not either of us, if you’re making accusations,” Bill says, feeling defensive. She squeezes Heather’s hand.

“I swear, I never breathed a word,” Heather confirms. “Not to anyone.”

“I don’t think it was either of you,” Clara says. She pushes off the wall, and gently places a hand on Grandfather’s shoulder. He’s still got his hands folded in front of his face, his expression as dark and unchanging as a storm on the horizon.

“She wouldn’t,” Grandfather says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“Who else would do this?” Clara presses.

“She wouldn’t risk –”

“Yes, she bloody would, and you know it.”

“Sorry, who are we talking about, here?” Bill interrupts. “Because this is – this is kind of my life she’s interrupted, whoever you’re talking about.”

Grandfather levels a calculating look at her. “Bill, when I said that finding you was important for the future of Gallifrey, I wasn’t kidding. I wasn’t planning on telling you this soon, but there … is someone who could take over the throne if you don’t accept it.”

“… And they’ve got something to do with all this?”

“Yes.” He glances at Heather. “As my granddaughter’s decided to trust you with her identity, I’m going to trust you with this too.”

He leans forward slowly, narrowing his eyes at her. Heather leans back into her chair imperceptibly.

“So don’t blab,” he says, sternly.

“Got it,” Heather says, nodding.

Satisfied, Grandfather leans back, steepling his fingers together. He nods at Clara, who takes the cue to speak.

“Right. So, Bill. You’re the daughter of the former crown prince, who was the heir before his untimely passing along with the queen. That makes you the direct heir to the throne now, though you wouldn’t have been should the crown prince have ever married and had other children. Since there’s only you, however, and you don’t have children – you _don’t_ have children do you?”

Bill gives Clara a _look_ , which makes her crack a smile. “Just double-checking. Well, since you don’t have any children, the next in line for the throne after you is a pretty damn distant relation. Technically speaking, she shouldn’t really be under consideration, but as her family’s history is so well documented since they split off from the main royal line, she’s the most eligible candidate for the throne. Her name is Missy, and she’s your sixth cousin.”

“Sixth cousin?! Are you serious?!” Bill doesn’t really know how family trees work, but even so, she’s pretty sure that that _can’t_ be right.

“Afraid so,” Clara says. “And she is more than willing to take up the job should you reject the throne.”

“Oh my god,” Bill whispers.

“We believe she’s probably the one that leaked the news about you to the press,” Clara continues. “Nardole said she’s been in the country for at least two weeks. He was keeping an eye on her, but …”

“She’s clever,” Grandfather says, grimly. “Too clever for her own good, since we schoolyard best friends.”

“You went to _school_ with her?” Bill says, still trying to process everything.

“She doesn’t sound like she would have made a very good friend,” Heather adds, quietly.

“Oh no, she did. Was. For a long time,” Grandfather murmurs. “But she changed, when it became clear she could rule. She never was any good at understanding that it was enough to simply live.”

Silence descends upon the room for a few moments, and Bill doesn’t think she’s imagining Clara’s hand squeezing Grandfather’s shoulder in comfort.

Clara clears her throat. “Time for damage control, Bill. We’re going to make a statement to the press, explain the situation. Don’t worry about that just yet, no one’s expecting you to make any formal addresses until the ball. But we need to sort out your living situation.”

Bill gasps, suddenly remembering. “Oh, god. I haven’t told Moira anything, what’s she going to say?”

“Never mind what she says,” Grandfather frowns. “But you can’t keep living with her. Would you consider – for the time being, at least – I mean. You could stay here.”

He sounds uncertain, hesitant. It’s that which gets through to her – cutting through the haze of panic and confusion that’s been clouding her senses until now. Bill looks up, into his face.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. If you want,” he says, trying and failing to sound casual. Clara’s hiding a smile, but Bill doesn’t bother, letting hers spread across her face.

“That’d be an idea, I think,” she says, suddenly feeling a lot better.

“Will the press be able to find her?” Heather asks, sounding concerned.

“Not if I can help it,” Clara says, sounding like she’s going to relish the challenge.

Despite the situation, Bill feels comfortable – safe, even. Being surrounded by people who are determined to look out for her is unfamiliar, but she thinks she could get used to it, with Grandfather teaching her, and Clara making arrangements, and Nardole keeping people away – and Heather, too, by her side all the while.

 

~

 

It’s decided to keep Bill at the consulate, but school’s tougher to consider. Eventually, after Bill insists that her grades can’t drop just because she’s semi-famous now, Grandfather relents and says she can keep attending, if Nardole can chauffer her back and forth. Bill agrees, realising that now the jig’s up, she’s got no reason to keep taking the unreliable and absolutely filthy school bus.

She calls Moira, and that’s harder to do. Moira yells at her, blames her, asks her what the hell she thinks she’s doing trying to lie about important stuff to Moira after all Moira’s done for her. Bill listens to all of it, and then calmly informs Moira that she’s moving out, and hangs up. She stares at the phone for a few minutes afterwards, slumped in the bed of the ridiculously fancy room they’ve stuck her in for her stay. Before the tears can really start to fall, though, she receives a text.

_She isn’t worth it, babydoll!_

Bill lets out a sudden laugh, thankful that if anyone had to hack her phone, it was Nardole.

The next couple of weeks are spent trying to avoid the press, which is easier said than done. They’re really determined to catch up with her, but luckily she’s got the combined powers of Nardole and Clara to keep them at bay. Heather is supportive too, in her quiet, steady way. (“I asked Clara today what happened to that one guy – you know, the skinny one – who kept following me, and she just said ‘you don’t want to know.’ She scares me sometimes.” “That’s probably a good thing. Means she scares the reporters too.” “Huh. Good point.”)

Grandfather continues his lessons on Gallifreyan culture, jumping from poetry, to physics, to salad plates. In one afternoon. Because of course he that would make sense to him.

The date of the ball creeps closer, and only a day out, Bill’s starting to get antsy about what she’s going to say – whether to accept the throne or not. It’s one thing to feel comfortable with Grandfather and Clara and Nardole, but that doesn’t mean she’d feel comfortable living in an entire other country. Not to mention _ruling_ it, which still scares her.

But still, all things considered, the whole identity reveal could have gone much, _much_ worse.

Until, that is, Bill finally meets the woman responsible.

It happens at lunch time, during school. Half the students have started sucking up to her, and the other half avoid her entirely, so Bill’s taken to hiding out wherever she can during breaks – inside whatever classroom she can find, for the most part. Teachers are a lot more lenient with her now. Usually Heather would be there too, but she’s got detention for arguing with their science teacher about engineering a functioning space ship, so Bill’s on her own.

The door to the classroom opens with a bang, and Bill jumps, heart pounding. She’s preparing a list of excuses in seconds (“Sir, it’s just so hard to be out there with the other kids nowadays, they all make fun of me!”) But, to her surprise, the person at the door is a stranger. Way too old to be a student, but definitely not a teacher – Bill would recognise her. The woman stares at her with a grin on her lips, something manic in her eyes.

“Um … Hi?” Bill says.

“Hello Bill,” the woman says, still posed in the doorway. She looks absolutely delighted, and Bill’s unnerved by it.

“Listen, um. I’ve got a security guard on speed dial right outside the school gates, yeah? So please just … Don’t make this weird?”

The woman laughs, for a weirdly long time. Bill’s heart sinks, and she slowly slips a hand into her pocket, feeling for her phone.

“Looking for this?” The woman says, holding up the aforementioned phone in her hand.

“How did you …?”

The woman shakes her head, tutting. “Bill, Bill. You’re going to need to keep a closer eye on your belongings if you want to be a proper royal. There’ll be people after your toenail clippings before long.”

“Who are you?” Bill demands, now getting properly scared.

“Just an interested party,” The woman says, smiling like a shark. “I came to give you a warning. Not a threat! Don’t let my dear old cousin tell you I was threatening you. I would _never_.”

 _Cousin_? Bill feels a cold rush of realisation – she knows who she’s dealing with, but she’s all alone –

“I really am just here to do you a good turn, Bill! See, I met your mother recently.”

“My mum’s dead,” Bill says, stung.

“Oh, not the dead one. The other one. Annoying one.”

“… Moira.”

“Yes, something like that. We had a good chat about you. She was very hurt by your up and abandoning her, you know,” Missy scolds, shaking her head sadly. “But I told her, I said to her – you ought to get some compensation! After all, it’s not her fault she had such an ungrateful child. But there are ways to get money when you know the right people. And she raised the right person, oh yes she did!”

“What?”

Missy stalks closer, and Bill has to resist the urge to curl up defensively behind her desk.

“You must have known it’d happen sooner or later. Your dear old granddaddy certainly knows it’ll have to.” Missy pauses to snicker. “Better than most, I’m afraid. His poor wife and son, gone too soon – if only they hadn’t been chased by those paparazzi.”

When Bill continues to stare, uncomprehending, Missy snorts and rolls her eyes. “Moira’s done a bit of a tell-all, I’m afraid.”

“She doesn’t know a thing about me,” Bill challenges, certain there’s nothing Moira could tell the press that other students at the school haven’t already told them.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Missy grins. “Such a shame. Now they’re all going to hound your girlfriend too.”

Bill tries not to gasp with horror, but fails. Missy tosses Bill her phone back, and Bill only just manages to catch it.

“Here,” Missy says. “Google yourself. All the kids are doing it!”

“I’m calling Nardole,” Bill whispers.

“Oh, by all means – let him know I said hi. I’m leaving anyway. And say hello to the king for me, too!” With that, Missy sweeps out of the room, cackling all the while, as if she’s just landed a very funny joke. Bill feels sick.

She opens up the internet and quickly types in her own name, praying that she won’t find anything more than what’s already been revealed.

But there it is – headlining the Daily Mail. _Bill Potts: Lesbian Princess of Gallifrey?_

She just _looks_ at it, for a moment, in disbelief. Moira can’t have known. Any time Bill had even _hinted_ at …

But she _had_ hinted. And Moira hadn’t wanted to know about it until it became convenient for her. Until she could use it against Bill, for all the years they lived together and annoyed each other and resented each other. Bill sets the phone down, hysterically wishing, for just a moment, for her mum. Her real mum. The one that only lives in her head.

And that’s the thought that breaks her, and sets the tears pouring forth. Her hands come up to her face as sobs work their way up through her chest, and she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ... I accidentally angst. Um. Sorry?
> 
> Spoilery content warning: Bill is outed by Moira to the press. Missy has a good laugh about it - she may be super queer but she's also, y'know, evil.


	5. Chapter 5

“Bill,” Heather says, hesitant. “I saw, on twitter. I’m so sorry.”

Bill doesn’t look up at her. Her face is still in her hands, though the sobbing has long since stopped. She’s just lucky this classroom didn’t have any classes for the last periods of the day. No one’s come to disturb her, until now.

“Are you okay?”

Bill shakes her head, mute. She hears Heather take a step towards her, and flinches, without meaning to.

“Don’t come near me,” Bill says, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “There’s enough rumours already. You shouldn’t have to be a part of this.”

“I want to be a part of this!” Heather protests.

Bill turns, shaking her head, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. “No, no you don’t. I’m so sorry. It was – I was selfish to try to … be friends. When all of this is happening.”

“Oh,” Heather says. “Are we … friends, then? I thought …”

But Bill isn’t listening. Her thoughts are racing ahead, as if time had stopped while she cried, and is only restarting now with Heather’s presence. She knows she can’t drag Heather into the mess she’s about to make, and she knows that Grandfather will be angry, but she’s in too deep now. She didn’t sign up for this.

And neither did Heather.

“I wanted to dance with you,” Bill blurts out. “At the ball. I was going to dance with you. Like on a date.”

“We can still do that,” Heather insists, stepping forward again. Her face is pained.

“No, we can’t. It’s not a date, it’s not … like a formal. It’s where I’m supposed to tell the whole world that I’m going to be a princess and rule a country and I _can’t_. I can’t …” _Be a princess_ , her mind supplies, but she ignores it. “I can’t do that to you.”

“I want you to,” Heather whispers. She swallows, before looking determinedly into Bill’s eyes. “I’m going to be there. You don’t have to dance with me, but I’m going to be there.”

Bill just shakes her head, numb to it all, preoccupied with thoughts of how she can get away.

“Will you do something for me?” Bill says.

Heather nods, mute, eyes still wide and full of fear and determination.

Bill loves that about her, which is why it breaks her heart to say what she has to say next.

“Just let me be alone. I don’t want to see you right now.”

The hurt flashes across Heather’s face with such intensity that Bill immediately wants to take the words back, but it’s already too late. Heather turns and walks away without another word, Bill biting back the _wait, stop_ , that’s on her tongue.

And now she only needs to figure out how to disappear.

 

~

 

Bill lets Nardole take her back to the consulate, despite everything inside her screaming at her that it’s time to run _now_ , because she’s conscious of the fact that if she wants to run away she’ll need supplies. Nardole doesn’t say much on the ride back, but tells her that Grandfather will be at the consulate soon – he’s off somewhere on official business with Clara, at the moment, but they’d started making their way back as soon as they’d heard. When Bill asks, Nardole confirms that she’s got about an hour before they return.

An hour, luckily, is all she’ll need to pack her belongings away. She doesn’t take anything from the consulate itself – she’s not a thief, and she has no right to any of it anyway, what with how she’s not going to be their princess anymore. No one will even _want_ her for a princess even if they _do_ find her, she reasons, but there’s no need to add theft to the list of reasons she can’t lead.

Or be apart of a family.

She leaves her phone on the desk, knowing Nardole will almost certainly have it bugged in case of this very scenario, or worse. She takes her school backpack, stuffed with clothes and other bits and pieces she doesn’t want to leave behind, already prepared with a story for the men in black. She’s going to tell them she forgot something at school, and Nardole’s already brought the car around to the front, so there’s no need to escort her anywhere. Nardole, of course, has done nothing of the sort, and Bill intends to make her way on a bus out of London. She’s a little worried about being recognised – but a ragged hoodie and some ancient jeans should hopefully resolve any issues there.

She checks her things one last time, finding everything in its place. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself, and opens the door to the hallway –

To find a blue book lying on the floor, with an envelope attached, her name scrawled on it in unfamiliar handwriting.

She stops short, staring at it for a moment. Grandfather hadn’t come back early, had he? No – he would have come in. Bill frowns, and kneels down to pick up the envelope and book – but a noise startles her, and she shoves it hastily in her backpack before hurrying away, certain that she’s making the best decision for everyone.

 

~

 

Bill’s starting to think this was all a terrible idea.

Not the running away – though, given she’s currently stuck outside in the rain, miserably counting her sorrows in the gloomy downpour that’s settled over London, that wasn’t a stroke of brilliance either. She’d meant to get outside the city by this point, but she’s stuck somewhere in Tottenham instead. At least her bus is due in five minutes.

No, it’s not the running away that’s causing her so much pain right now. It’s the _whole bloody thing_ – being a princess, finding a family, moving out of home, getting close to Heather. Every single bit of it is clearly too much for a girl like her to handle, and she’s miserable with her failure. Too scared to ask a girl out, too scared to accept the offer of a family, and way, _way_ too scared to be a leader. That’s all on her.

Bill sniffs, her nostrils clogged by the cold and all the crying. Unfortunately, the motion causes her nose to tickle, and she ends up sneezing three times in quick succession, dislodging her bag from her shoulder and scattering the contents everywhere as the zipper slips. She groans in irritation, quickly kneeling down to pick up her belongings.

And that’s when she spots the blue book, and remembers she hasn’t even read the note attached. She slowly puts everything back in its place, except for the book and the note, holding them in the arm that isn’t currently struggling to keep a grip on her bag.

She glances up at the estimated bus arrival time, but it hasn’t change from five minutes. The book and note seem to taunt her, daring her to see what they contain, even if she is too much of a coward to go and give them back. She flips through the book cautiously, but it’s blank – it seems to be some kind of diary. No clues there.

What if they turn out to belong to someone else?

But … how could they, with her name scrawled on the envelope of the note so neatly?

She peels open the envelope. There’s an old-fashioned letter inside, hand-written. Almost as soon as Bill begins to read, she forgets to breathe.

 

_My wonderful baby Bill,_

_Today, I hope, is your seventeenth birthday. If not – well, I can’t ask you to stop reading now, so I’ll go on with what I have to say anyway._

_Bill, I’m very sick as I write this. I don’t have much longer in this world and the only reason I’ve held on so long is to keep hearing you laugh. You have been the sweetest, happiest, most wonderful child I ever could have asked for. Whenever I see you smile, it reminds me that I need to keep fighting – because there are so many wonders in this world, and you see them with new eyes every day. And every day, they make you smile._

_There are things you need to know, baby girl. Your dad and I didn’t break up because he was cruel, or a bad person. He’s destined to rule Gallifrey, and I’ve never wanted a life of riches and publicity, and he doesn’t – didn’t – blame me for it. He let me go when I chose to go. He and his family were never anything but kind to me, and you must not blame them for my choice._

_Because I was selfish in regards to you, Bill. I never told him (or any of them) about you, and that’s a choice I made to protect you from the kind of life I don’t want. Only time will tell if it was the right one._

_I hope the day will never come where you have to choose whether to ascend to your so-called duty. I don’t believe that you will be forced to make that choice, if your father is indeed able to marry with time, and have other children. But there is a chance that you will. There is a chance that the side of your family you have never known, that I kept you from, will come for you and make you choose._

_If that day comes, my beautiful girl, please, don’t be afraid. There’s only one way to make a choice like that – with love. If you have to choose between two paths, take the one that will lead you to love. I took the path that let me keep you safe, and close, and that was a choice of love. I don’t regret that for a second. I hope one day you can live with such sureness too._

_I love you, Bill. Even when I’m gone, I’ll never stop._

_Mum_.

 

By the time she’s finished reading, Bill can hardly see for tears and the endless rain still dripping from her hair and cheeks. She’s never – there’s never been any pictures, or letters, or anything from her mum. At most, these past weeks, she’s had vague anecdotes from Grandfather, of a woman he hardly knew a lifetime ago.

But this –

Words from her real, actual mum. To her. Only for her. And she wants Bill to be brave, and choose love.

Bill knows what she has to do.

Having left her phone at the consulate, she scouts around for a few minutes before locating an ancient-looking blue payphone. Scrounging in her pocket for a few coins, she finally manages to dial Nardole’s number with shaking fingers. Luckily, he answers within seconds.

“How did you get this number?” His voice is flat and unamused, probably from not recognising the caller.

“Nardole? It’s Bill. I’m on a payphone, I left mine at the consulate.”

“Bill!” Nardole’s voice instantly lifts. “We’ve all been so worried. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, I promise, it’s fine – but I’m going to need a ride. Can you come get me?” A sudden crack of thunder makes Bill jump, nervously, as if to emphasise just what a situation she’s gotten herself into.

“Already tracking your location, babydoll,” Nardole says cheerfully.

“Thanks,” Bill replies. She swallows, knowing she’s put them all through the wringer tonight. “I’m … I’m sorry that I –”

“Don’t worry. He isn’t angry. He did the same thing on his coronation day. We’re just glad you called.”

“… Thanks, Nardole,” Bill says, letting herself smile just a tiny bit. “See you soon.”

And soon it is, when Nardole comes screaming around the corner to pick her up. Bill winces when she glances at the time on the car’s display, realising she may have been cutting things a little bit finer than she thought.

By the time they both get back to the consulate, after an extremely harried ride through the worst of London traffic, evening has well and truly set in. The darkness outside is lit up on occasion by brief flashes of lightning, exposing the truly incredible number of expensive cars pulling up close to the consulate. Bill gets a few glances at people, too, dressed up in clothing that could probably sold for enough to stock her school’s canteen for a month. She twists her hands nervously in her ratty hoodie’s sleeves, feeling self-conscious – she’s pretty sure she’s not going to have time to change, at this rate. Her address is meant to take place right at the start of the night, and at this point in time, only stragglers are still coming up the steps, for all the valets still driving around.

Nardole, with his mysterious ways, manages to sneak her in the back without anyone noticing. Not for the first time, Bill wonders how he does it – and considers, for the first time, that he might be in her life for long enough to find out. The thought makes her tummy drop with anxiety, but excitement too.

Within minutes of her arrival, there’s half a dozen people around her fussing – her hair’s being squeezed into champagne flutes to remove the rainwater, and an emergency make-up artist (because apparently that’s a thing, for royals,) is tutting over her state of dress and baggy eyes.

Bill forgets all of them as soon as she enters the back room where she takes lessons with Grandfather. He’s waiting there now, Clara present as usual, a look on his face more vulnerable and terrified than Bill’s ever seen. He doesn’t see her straight away, listening to the tail-end of something Clara’s murmuring to him as she holds onto his hands, gripping them tight. Bill clears her throat.

“Hi, Grandfather,” she whispers, feeling self-conscious.

He turns towards her, shock emanating from every feature. And without seeming to even think about it, without hesitating for a second, he strides towards her and hugs her so tightly that she can hardly breathe. It’s disconcerting, for a second – Bill isn’t used to people hugging her as it is, let alone her awkward, touch-averse Grandfather. But after a second, she raises her arms and hugs him back, letting herself feel what it’s like to be a part of a family, fully, for the first time since she was baby.

He pulls back, smiling, his hands on her shoulders. “Bill,” he says, simply.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught in the rain,” she chuckles nervously. “Or, well. I nearly did something a bit cowardly, to be honest.”

“Not cowardly, never that,” Grandfather says, seriously. “You’re much too brave to ever be a coward. Much braver than me. Did I ever tell you, on the night of my coronation –”

“You ran away, yes, I know. Nardole told me.”

Grandfather frowns, though there’s no real anger in it. “That Nardole’s getting above his station.”

“As if that kind of thing ever bothered you,” Clara says, teasingly, from behind them. She turns her gaze to Bill, a more serious expression on her face. “I take it this means you’re ready to make your address, then, Bill?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I mean – shouldn’t I get changed?” Bill glances between Grandfather and Clara, both of whom are dressed extremely formally, Grandfather in some kind of traditional red Gallifreyan suit, and Clara in a beautiful pale blue gown.

Clara sucks in air through her teeth. “Ooh, yeah, well. It’s already about fifteen minutes overdue. So it’s up to you, but frankly, I wouldn’t keep them waiting much longer.”

“I made my first public address in tartan trousers and a t-shirt,” Grandfather says, encouragingly.

“I don’t think public speaking as a child counts, Grandfather.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. I was twenty-three.”

“Right, okay,” Bill replies, faintly.

She’s definitely related to him, then.

“You’ll be okay,” Grandfather says, softly, “Whether you choose to rule or not.”

“You – you don’t know if I’m going to accept the throne?” Bill’s shocked – she’d assumed, from the warm welcome, that Grandfather knew she was going to say yes.

But he shakes his head, gazing at her fondly. “I trust you.”

Bill decides to throw her arms around him for another hug before she can burst into tears again. She’s done enough crying for today. She pulls back quickly, though, eager to get the speech over and done with and get on with things.

“Right. Let’s do this.”

 

~

 

“So, um. There is a story behind the clothes. And it’s a good one, too, I promise. But I really don’t want to go into that right now, y’know, because, this whole speech thing. Uh. I mean, I’m my grandfather’s granddaughter, what can I say. In more ways than one, too.

Because, see, I didn’t have a family for most of my life. I had someone to raise me, yeah, but, well … Uh, you’ve seen the tabloids, I’m sure, so. That didn’t really work out. And I never really had too many friends at school, either, although that’s also changed recently, for, um, unrelated reasons.

Basically, though, the point I’m trying to make is that discovering this whole side to my identity made me realise … How connected I am with the world around me. With the universe, even. There are people who care about me and who I’ve learned to care about in return, after a really long time of wanting people to care about.

And I thought about this decision a lot, and what it would mean for my life – how things would change. And I realised … I realised I was thinking too much about me. I wasn’t thinking about what it would mean for my family to lose me, only what it would mean for me to lose them. And I wasn’t thinking about what it would mean for Gallifrey to change dramatically as a result of my abdication, only what it would mean for _me_ to make changes to _my_ life.

And after some timely advice, and, um, a lot of thinking, I decided … I would be an idiot to refuse to step up to the plate. I choose connection. I choose love. I choose bravery.

I hope that I can be the leader Gallifrey needs. I hope that I can stand up for people like me, and even people not like me, too. And so … I accept. From today, and with humbleness and gratitude at the support of the Gallifreyan people, I will be the crown princess of Gallifrey.”

 

~

 

Bill takes a breath, noticing with some distance that her hands are shaking when she raises them from the podium to settle them back down by her sides.

There’s no explosion of applause, no cheers or shouts. It’s a consulate ball, after all – that kind of thing would be unseemly. But there is clapping, polite, sustained. Bill risks glancing around the room and sees mostly happy faces. She glances over to the side of the tiny stage they’ve set her on for the press, and Grandfather is still there, grinning at her with pride. She smiles back, relieved.

He believes she can do this, and so does she.

She’s ushered offstage quite quickly and Grandfather steps up to answer a few questions. Clara will take over shortly after that, and then everyone will adjourn to the ballroom for the opening dance. So Bill has about fifteen or twenty minutes with the emergency make-up artist and … well, she’s still not sure what the other woman’s profession technically is, but it involves making dresses look good on famous people. Which Bill is now going to be forever.

They work incredibly fast, though, all things considered. Bill’s hair is dried and allowed to puff out naturally, and a few glittery strings of jewels are threaded through it to make it look fancy with the limited time they can spend on it. She’s given a minimal but effective layer of make-up, nothing over-the-top, but certainly an improvement on the waterlogged look she had before. And the dress – well, she’d already picked something out before tonight, a huge blue thing made of layers and layers of material picked apart to reveal unexpected flashes of silver, stars dotting the fabric here and there. The dress comes last, and fits like a glove.

When she turns to the mirror, Bill can’t help but be impressed by the turnaround, and she’s quick to thank the make-up artist and the – dresser, Bill supposes. Yes, that’ll do.

And then her time is up, and she nervously makes her way to the ballroom, where she’ll have to open the dancing alongside Grandfather. She’d planned to do it with Heather, while Grandfather is, according to tradition, supposed to be dancing with the current prime minister, Romana Dvoratrelundar. Bill supposes she’s just going to have to hope someone takes pity on her instead.

Grandfather meets her just outside the ballroom, and leads her in on his arm. Clara waits at the side of the gigantic room, lurking in the shadows and keeping a critical eye on the proceedings. Dozens of impeccably dressed people Bill’s never met before wait at the edges of the dancefloor, and though she doesn’t recognise most of them, she’s pleased to note she can pick out some faces she’d studied with Grandfather. Once they reach the centre of the room, the gatherers bow and curtsy as one to them, making Bill’s heart swoop at the surprise of it. She and Grandfather bow their heads at one another, and then turn their gazes to the people, Bill trying in vain to pick out someone – anyone – familiar to dance with. The music starts and Bill’s beginning to feel nervous, but at that moment, she hears a quiet murmur race through the crowd.

She turns towards Grandfather and suddenly understands why – because he’s not dancing with the prime minister, who’s still waiting at the edge of the dancefloor, rolling her eyes as if she’s used to this kind of thing.

This kind of thing being her Grandfather holding his hand out to Clara, who has an expression on her face like she’s not sure whether to kill him or kiss him.

Neither urge must win out, because Clara simply schools her expression into neutrality and accepts his hand with a great deal of grace and poise – Bill wishes she knew how to do that. Her face is always reacting to things without her permission.

She turns away, suddenly remembering _she_ still needs a partner too.

And then she sees a familiar face amongst the crowd. A girl with a star in her eye, dressed all in red, looking nervous but hopeful. Bill smiles, something inside her heart softening at the sight of Heather, slowly making her way to the edge of the dancefloor.

Bill walks towards her, and holds out her hand. Heather’s expression transforms – into relief, joy, thankfulness. She takes Bill’s hand.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Bill murmurs, so no one else can hear.

“It’s okay,” Heather says softly back. “I’m just glad you’re all right. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Without another word, they begin to dance, the same dance they’d practised all those weeks ago together in Moira’s tiny flat. It feels like a lifetime, Bill reflects, as other dancers join the floor. Her eyes never leave Heather’s, and the next half-hour or so hardly seems like time passing at all – it feels like time’s stopped altogether, like there’s nothing outside her and Heather, only their lives happening all at once.

When the music changes and Bill doesn’t think she’ll be missed for too long, she takes the opportunity to drag Heather out onto one of the tiny balconies off the hallway outside the ballroom. The rain has stopped, and though the air is cold, it’s clean and crisp inside Bill’s lungs. She feels so, so alive.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” Bill starts, once she’s sure they’re alone. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to push you away like that after I tried so hard to … um, to be friends in the first place.”

Heather smiles, but it’s a little sad. “Friends?”

Bill’s cheeks warm. “Well, I mean – I know we danced together, but I didn’t want to assume, ’cos I mean …”

“Bill,” Heather says, something in her tone that makes Bill’s heart speed up, “I want you assume.”

“Okay.” Bill squeaks, just a little.

Heather just keeps looking at her, as if the star in her eye is a manifestation of feeling rather than a simple physical mutation – and then the star comes closer, and Bill realises she’s about to be kissed, for the first time, by the girl of her dreams.

By some miracle, it’s perfect. Heather’s lips meet her own, and Bill finds her hands rising to gently cup Heather’s cheeks, while Heather’s slip around Bill’s waist. They stay together on the balcony like that for a long time, and when Bill pulls back, she feels slightly faint with happiness.

“God, as first kisses go, that was bloody incredible,” she blurts out.

Heather lets out a tiny laugh, glancing embarrassedly at the ground. Bill takes her hand, feeling bold.

“I really don’t want to go anywhere, but … duty calls,” she says, regretfully.

“It’s okay, I told you. I understand.”

Bill squeezes Heather’s hand. She’s just about to exit the balcony – in fact, her head’s halfway around the French doors – when she spies two figures in the hallway, walking along slowly towards the private area of the consulate. Bill’s eyebrows rise as she realises it’s Grandfather and Clara, so close together that their arms keep brushing with every step. She wisely pulls her head through the doors again, stepping back onto the balcony.

“Actually,” she says, glancing up at the night sky, now showing stars as the clouds clear away, and smiling. “You know what? I reckon we can stay out another five minutes or so.”

“Yeah?” Heather says, grinning.

“Yeah,” Bill replies, before wrapping her arms around her girlfriend, pulling her in for another heart-stopping kiss – the second of so many to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long!! Real life hit pretty hard. Now there's only an epilogue to go! No promises, but I'm considering also posting one or two drabbles set in this 'verse about Bill settling into Gallifreyan life, Missy making trouble, Clara and Twelve being disgustingly romantic, etc. We'll see!
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear diary,_

_I’m on my first ever flight to … well, anywhere, really, but specifically: Gallifrey. Grandfather’s coming back home for a few months before he has to go off and make more official visits overseas, so it’s been decided I should come along and get to know the country. I still don’t get out of my GCSEs, but hey, flying first class might almost make up for that. They give you drinks with tiny umbrellas in them! It almost makes up for the possibility of running into Missy again. The idea of sharing a country with her, let alone my family tree, is still kinda weird. But I’m okay. I’ve got Clara and Nardole and Grandfather and Heather to keep her out of the way._

_Heather’s still at home, unfortunately, which isn’t fair because she’s ridiculously good at kissing and I think I’ve become addicted to it. I miss her so much already, but hopefully I can bring her along on future trips. I reckon I could probably win an award for ‘most romantic date ever’ if I brought her along to Grandfather’s actual, literal castle in the mountains._

_Speaking of romance, it seems like Clara and Grandfather got their shit sorted, finally. I caught them holding hands the other night – I don’t know why they think they’re so subtle, everyone can see how sappy they are about each other. I suppose I’m the same though, with Heather, so I can’t complain. And it’s good for him to be able to have some romance in his life again after losing his wife and kid. At least, that’s what everyone says._

_Oh! Speaking of which. I think I’m legitimately being haunted by my own grandmother._

_See, the fact of the matter is, I finally got around to asking who’d left the envelope and you outside my bedroom on the night of the ball. And literally nobody seems to know who did it. And when I asked Grandfather, and showed him you, he got this funny sort of look on his face and had to sit down. Apparently, Grandmother had a diary exactly like this one, years ago – she had a bunch of them made, because she wrote so much. He doesn’t know how this one showed up, because she’s supposed to have finished them all before she died (which is eerie enough, I mean – dying in a car accident right after finishing your last diary? Spooky.) Point is, though, he doesn’t know how I got the diary, no one has any idea about how I got the letter or even where it came from (and they double-checked the handwriting with some old forms my mum signed, so it was definitely her that wrote it,) so I reckon I’m absolutely definitely being haunted. For a ghost, though, Grandmother seems wicked cool, so I’m okay with it._

_The plane’s going to land soon, and I’ll be taking my first steps on Gallifreyan soil. I hope I can still be the leader I want to be for Gallifrey, and the leader that they want too. But there’s only one way to find out, and that’s by being brave. I have a family who loves me, and even if all this got taken away tomorrow, that’s the only thing I need. So I’m going to love them and this country back, as best as I can. For once in my life, I honestly can’t wait to find out what the future holds._

_Love,_

_Bill_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah fuck it. I put the epilogue up too! Please let me know what you thought!!

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


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